Brothers of Paradise Series

I look down at the navy loafers I’d gotten at a bargain price at the outlet outside of town. “They are?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I’ve never been on a boat in my life.”

He gives me a look I can’t decipher. Without my heels, I feel small next to him, more than a head taller than me and powerfully built. I still don’t understand how he maintains a physique like that when all he does is spend time in the office.

Henry breaks the eye contact. “Let’s go.”

We walk through the office in silence, and ride the elevator in silence. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s not tense, either. The company’s car is waiting for us by the curb.

Henry opens the door for me. His expression looks wry, like he’s warning me not to get used to it. Don’t worry, buddy, I think and shoot him a blazing smile.

He doesn’t return it, getting into the seat next to me. “I trust you’ve read up on the Rexfield project.”

“I have, yes.”

He runs a hand over the smooth leather finish of the door, watching as the city passes us by outside. The project is uptown, so it shouldn’t take us long. “Tell me about it.”

So I do. I run through all the stats I can remember.

“It’s a fifteen-story building. Set to be completed by the end of the year. Developed by us but commissioned by the Rexfield corporation. Work is contracted out to Sanders & Sons. It’s a standard, run-of-the-mill New York office building,” I add, thoughtlessly.

Henry’s eyes narrow. “Run-of-the-mill?”

Damn. But I won’t lie. “Yes. It’s designed to fit into the neighborhood it’s located in. Similar colors and structure to the other buildings on the street. It needed to fit zoning regulations. For the interior, Rexfield wanted something functional. They’re a medicine company,” I say, making my voice slightly apologetic. “They’re not interested in a building fit for Architectural Digest.”

He nods slowly. “You’re not wrong. But I would caution you to call any of our developments standard or run-of-the-mill around clients. Or around anyone else at the office, for that matter.”

“I won’t.” I consider apologizing, but then decide against it. Nothing I’d said had been incorrect.

“We’re here.” He gets out first, opening the door for me again. The chivalrous gesture must be ingrained. Outside, the sun is high in the sky. It’s unusually warm for May.

Martin from Sanders & Sons is waiting at the build. He gives Henry a thorough handshake.

“So glad you could make it, Mr. Marchand. We have a lot to show you today.”

“I’m looking forward to it. This is my new assistant, Miss Alvarez.”

Martin shakes my hand. “A pleasure. And as you’ll both see, we’re bang on time on schedule, as well.”

Henry nods-as if he expected nothing less-and we begin our tour through the skeleton-like building. Martin’s knowledge is near encyclopedic. He can answer every question Henry throws his way, even the curveballs.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

I wonder if that’s a requirement for working with Marchand & Rykers.

I take notes on everything. Henry doesn’t use any props at all. No paper or blueprints. Does he remember it all? It seems implausible, but then again, knowing him, it wouldn’t surprise me.

Martin takes us through the different levels of rough concrete, saving the view from the top floor for last. I think back to the original sketches for the building-this was to be made into the executive management’s offices.

The meeting runs much later than I anticipated in Henry’s schedule. He’s deep in conversation with Martin, and I don’t want to interrupt, but there’s no chance he’ll be in time for his lunch meeting with a few of the architects at the firm.

“Thank you,” he says finally to Martin. “You’ve been running point with Rhett from my office on this project. Has he been to your satisfaction?”

Martin’s eyes widen. “Yes. Yes, absolutely, sir. He’s very involved.”

I resist the urge to grimace. Involved, yikes. Not usually a contractor’s wet dream.

Henry nods. “Please ensure the project continues to run on schedule.”

It’s past one p. m. when we finally leave the building site. Henry sighs, brushing off dust from the sleeve of his suit jacket. The sun hits him directly, and in the light his brown hair gleams with auburn notes. His square jaw has faint hints of a stubble, as if it’s already started to grow from his morning shave. I try to look away, but it’s hard. He really is a very impressive specimen of a man.

A date, I tell myself. You need to get back out there. Travis.

“What did you think?”

I blink once, drawn out of my musings. “Of the building project?”

“No, of Martin’s beautiful blue eyes,” he deadpans.

I blink at him. He jokes. “Oh. Well, it’s unusual that the project is on track to meet the original, unrevised schedule. You have great contractors.”

“Or great incentives,” he says.

“Yes. But… the design of the top floor bothered me slightly.”

He turns to face me entirely. I thought I was used to the clinical way he looks at me, but now it feels like far too much to be the recipient of all that attention.

“Tell me,” he orders.

“The view is terrific. It’s the most valuable per-square-feet of the entire property. Using it only for executive offices feels like a waste.”

“What would you suggest instead?”

“A boardroom that can double as a conference room. Not something boring, but a place where they can pitch to investors. A place to present new medication. To use that natural light somehow-a beautiful space, like a showroom.”

“Atrium-like?”

“Yes.”

“They could hold functions there, too,” Henry adds. “It’s a good idea. It’s something Rhett should have thought about. It’s not surprising that the company pushed for offices for the executives-themselves, basically-but it’s an architect’s job to give suggestions. To be better than the client.”

“Yes.”

He looks at me for a long beat. “Good catch.”

To my horror, I find myself blushing from the praise like a schoolgirl. To hide it, I open my bag and dig out my phone, finding his calendar. “This meeting ran later than expected.”

“It did.”